I dreamt about our apartment. Know the address by heart. To be truthful, am scared to death to start cooking for you for fear none of my recipes turn out. Please have patience with me and pretend I’ve never cooked before and am just learning. (Which is the truth almost.)
Received wedding invitation from your college friend Stan for the 16th or 17th of October to a girl of the name DeLang. I do not know what to get them so will leave it up to you.
Made an appointment for our blood test on Wednesday as that takes 24 hours to get the results and we have to have that before we apply for a licence. What red tape, huh!
Mom will be down a week from this Friday. Hurry home,
Billie
PS. Am taking car to the garage tomorrow for a lube job and new oil filter.
And now here they were, about to live together. An hour later, they pulled into the hotel Jacko had booked: Agie’s Guesthouse in Jenner. He figured they’d take their time going to Oregon, like a proper honeymoon.
‘Name, please?’ asked the landlady primly.
‘Mr and Mrs MacAlister,’ said Billie, feeling her face heat. ‘My husband made a reservation a while ago.’
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs MacAlister.’
‘My husband is just coming now. With our suitcases,’ she said. ‘We just got married,’ she added quickly. ‘Yesterday.’
‘Yes, I was aware of that. Congratulations.’ Then she smiled finally, handed her a key and said: ‘There you go, Mrs MacAlister.’
Jacko had a bottle of champagne. The bottle was too warm, and the landlady brought a bucket of ice. It was not an ice bucket, but a normal bucket, and when he plunged the bottle in, the ice completely covered it. He hoped it chilled quickly so they could drink it quickly, get under the sheets quickly. A double bed! By God, marriage was a fantastic institution. They tested the bed, immediately fell into a clinch so tight each almost swooned. And yes, it felt different yet again. Were they different people now they were married? Would it just go on and on changing, or would it now solidify? They kissed deeply, legs scissoring, and Jacko’s plans to do things in the proper order went out the window. Off came the clothes, and within seconds they’d set the springs to squeaking. They tasted of sweat and salt and of each other.
‘Billie, why don’t you have a bath first? Leave the water, and I’ll get in after you.’
‘Okay, honey. I do feel sticky.’
‘You complaining?’ in a cornball John Wayne voice.
Billie knew Jacko was teasing, that he was not really being vulgar, he was being ironic. But it was too convoluted, and she couldn’t think of a witty reply. She hated this slowness, this literal mindedness in herself. She made a vow: Learn to be funny. Practise sarcasm. Meanwhile she overcompensated by being affectionate and gave him three kisses.
She ran the bath, thinking all the while: This is how married people are, how they talk, how they take it for granted they’ll share bath water. But she was modest still, and closed the door. She undressed and looked at herself in the mirror, thinking of the Sutro Baths with Jacko last summer. What a show off he was, with his fancy diving. Funny how when you loved someone, their showing off wasn’t annoying. Wasn’t it great, the way her red bathing suit fit her? Snug but not pinching. And she was pleased with the way her body looked now, as she slipped into the bath water. Ran her hands down her legs, feeling for bristles she might have missed. None. Good.
He was on his back, eyes closed. It was just them at last. Last night Billie’s sister, some of her bridesmaids, her mother and his mother (widows, the pair of them), and Ernie and Bernice had all visited them in their hotel suite, as if it was an ordinary room on an ordinary night, and they’d come to admire the view and say goodnight. They’d even brought bottles and glasses. What a hoot! But not a second of privacy.
This place was so romantic, she thought. This night. This was the romance that the wedding night should have held. She got out of the bath, almost pulled the plug then remembered. Decided to make a few repairs before summoning that handsome husband of hers – creamed some lotion into her skin, and while waiting for it to soak in, brushed her hair. Applied some lipstick, sprayed some Evening in Paris. Wiggled her boyish hips to the song in her head, ‘The Tennessee Waltz’.
Suddenly, a loud pop and glass breaking. ‘God-fucking-damnit! Billie! Billie, Billie!’
She stood there, naked and greasy, frozen at the sight of her new husband with blood pouring from his face.
‘Bill. Hon. It’s okay. The bottle exploded.’
‘Golly! Let me see,’ she said, coming closer.
‘Don’t! Put something on your feet first.’
He lowered the hand holding a pillow case to his chin.
Billie’s face told Jacko what he suspected. ‘Okay, better find a doctor,’ he said.
‘I’ll drive,’ said Billie, as she pulled on underwear. She was worried, but she was also thinking that she’d never seen Jacko with quite this expression. He was just a boy! Part of her wanted to giggle. And then the giggle really did sneak out. She coughed to cover it, and commanded herself not to look again till the giggle was gone.
Jacko’s face was starting to throb, and as he felt for glass shards in his forehead, he couldn’t help ogling his wife’s breasts. There they were, struggling against her bra, which was so pointy it looked dangerous.
The drive to the doctor’s office was fraught.
‘Billie, shift down!’
‘Okay.’
‘Shift up, Billie.’
‘Okay.’
‘Speed up a little, honey, cars are behind us.’
‘Okay.’ And then: ‘Sorry.’ Tears spilled down her face.
‘Oh come on. Nothing to cry about.’
‘I. Am. A. Good. Driver,’ she said softly, managing just a syllable at a time.
‘What?’
‘I drive all the time.’
